Ready to garden, but the garden is not ready for me.
I have seeds, tubers, tools, and cabin fever. I want to dig in rich moist earth. I want to make straight rows with my hoe, drop in the seeds, and cover them over with just the right depth of dirt. I will trace reiki symbols over the rows.
I want to check the beds every day, in anticipation of sprouts.
Cucumber, zucchini, and pumpkin tendrils will curl over the edges of the raised beds. Carrots will dig in. Beans will flourish. I will leave bags of vegies on neighbors' steps.
Now all I need is some warmth. It's still temps in the teens here. Snow and ice cover the garden. I see tips of crocuses and daffodils, but the ground is still frozen, waiting. So I wait. I look at garden catalogs, marveling at the color.
Garden dreams.
I have seeds, tubers, tools, and cabin fever. I want to dig in rich moist earth. I want to make straight rows with my hoe, drop in the seeds, and cover them over with just the right depth of dirt. I will trace reiki symbols over the rows.
I want to check the beds every day, in anticipation of sprouts.
Cucumber, zucchini, and pumpkin tendrils will curl over the edges of the raised beds. Carrots will dig in. Beans will flourish. I will leave bags of vegies on neighbors' steps.
Now all I need is some warmth. It's still temps in the teens here. Snow and ice cover the garden. I see tips of crocuses and daffodils, but the ground is still frozen, waiting. So I wait. I look at garden catalogs, marveling at the color.
Garden dreams.
